The Love That You Deserve
by adromir
Summary: Sam is doing some research in the library when a bookcase falls on top of him. Meanwhile, Dean is having the most wonderful dream about the beach and a Victoria Secret model in a red bikini.


**A/N: Hi, y'all. This is my third Supernatural fic. Yeah, I know that I'm supposed to finish writing "Cockrotoa", but this one suddenly popped up in my head and wouldn't go away. This particular story took place after Season 13 episode 8 "The Scorpion And The Frog". Do enjoy, my dearies.**

 **SUMMARY: Sam is doing some research in the library when a bookcase falls on top of him. Meanwhile, Dean is having the most wonderful dream about the beach and a Victoria Secret model in a red bikini.**

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Dean knew he was dreaming.

He was on a beach, wearing nothing but a snug swimming trunk with tropical motif print. Reclining on a beach chair, he sipped from a chilled bottle of Corona, his eyes opened just a slit. The sound of the waves almost lulled him to sleep.

Alessandra Ambrosio suddenly broke the surface just fifty feet in front of him, her honey glazed limbs and long dark hair sleeking wet. He dazedly watched as the super famous Brazilian supermodel, a Victoria Secret angel with legs up to her ears, walked seductively towards him. The little fire engine red bikini she wore added fuel to his wild imagination.

Damn. He always had things for beautiful brunettes.

So, yeah, it was just a dream. But what an incredible dream this was turning up to be.

"Olá," Alessandra greeted him with a dazzling smile.

"Olala," he stupidly replied. He was about to say something even more stupid when there was a loud crash accompanied by a slight tremor.

"What the hell…"

Dean blinked in bewilderment. The beach, Alessandra and the red bikinis, all disappeared. Instead, he found himself lying in his own bed in his bedroom in the bunker.

He instantly shot up right, one hand already grabbing the gun under his pillow.

"Sam?" he called out loud, jumping from the bed. Without waiting a response, he rushed out the door towards his brother's bedroom.

"SAMMY!"

That crash, the tremor, those were real. He knew it in his guts. His heart beat faster when his brother still had not responded.

Entering Sam's room, his concern intensified. The bed was still made, the sheets tucked with military precision, completely undisturbed. Either Sam had not turned in yet that night, or he had risen earlier than usual. Dean glanced at his watch.

"It's almost three in the morning," Dean grumbled, "Where in the world could he be?"

The answer then hit him.

 _The library, of course!_

Muttering under his breath about wringing the neck of a certain sasquatch, he went back out into the hallway and hurried towards the library, his gun still poised to shoot.

"Sam!" he called out again. "Come on, dude. Answer me!"

When there were still no replies, Dean was both mad and incredibly worried. Sam would always respond to his call. _Always_. Unless he was unable to, or when he was simply being a snot-nosed jerk like all annoying little brothers in the world.

Reaching the war room first, Dean didn't notice anything unusual. All was quiet, except for the low buzzing sound of the old lamps above his head. From where he stood, he could see part of the library but saw no sign of his brother.

"Sammy, you in there?"

He walked closer, and quickly noticed that the wall in one corner was bare. A tall bookcase was supposed to stand there, but it had toppled over to the floor, scattering books and tomes everywhere. Under the bookcase, Sam lay still on his side with only his head exposed, completely unconscious.

" _SAM_!"

Horrified, Dean rushed over to kneel beside his brother. Putting down his gun, he began to seek for Sam's pulse. "Sam, come on. Don't do this. Sammy!"

Dean sighed with relief when he found his brother's steady pulse. But the younger Winchester was not out of danger yet, not when he was still trapped under the heavy bookcase.

"Hey, kid. Wake up. Come on now." Dean patted Sam's cheek repeatedly, with no apparent result. "You're supposed to sleep in your bed, not under a bookcase."

When Sam still did not stir, Dean cursed. He grabbed the bookcase and tried to lift it. The old yet strong furniture, made of pure mahogany, rose several inches. But how in the world was he going the drag his brother out from under there? He needed both hands to do the lifting.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed again, putting down the bookcase slowly so as not to crush his brother beneath. He continued to hover over Sam, brushing dark brown locks off the younger man's temple. There was a big lump there, red and swollen like a goose egg.

"Ouch. That must hurt." Dean hissed. He quickly looked around for things to use as a fulcrum strong enough to support the bookcase, but Sam suddenly chose that moment to rouse awake.

Groaning, Sam's eyes blinked opened. "Unhh…damn it…Oww..."

"Sammy?"

"Umm…yeah." Sam's reply was weak, uncertain. "Dean? What…what's going on?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Funny you should ask. I was gonna ask _you_ the same thing. But first thing first. Let's get you out from there. You're up to it?"

Sam only stared dazedly back.

"Sam?" Dean asked, "You hear me?"

"Huh?"

"Okay, so you're still not fully there yet. Now listen carefully," Dean said, "I'm gonna raise this thing, but you need to pull yourself out. Can you do that?"

"I think so."

"Right, let's do this." Placing both hands under the heavy furniture, Dean said next, "Ready, Sam? On three. One…two…three!"

With all his might, Dean lifted the bookcase about a feet up, giving Sam enough space to wriggle out from underneath. Holding that position for several seconds, Dean finally let go the moment Sam's feet were cleared. The bookcase crashed down with a loud thump.

Moaning, Sam collapsed onto his back with a grimace on his face.

"Hey, hey, don't pass out on me now." Dean quickly returned to his brother's side. He lifted Sam's head with care before placing it on his lap. "Sammy? You good?"

"I just…need a moment." Sam had his eyes closed as he kneaded his left shoulder.

"Okay. Take all the time you need. How badly are you hurt, though? Any broken bones?"

"Don't think so," Sam replied, reopening his eyes. "Just bumps and bruises, I guess. I'll definitely be black and blue tomorrow."

"What are you doing under the bookcase, anyway?"

Sam scowled. "I wasn't doing that on purpose! It was an accident."

"Just tell me, what really happened?"

Sighing, Sam began telling his story. "I was doing research—"

"Surprise, surprise." Dean snorted, not feeling the bit surprised at all.

"I was doing research on Jack," Sam continued, glaring at the interruption. "Now that we know there's a spell to track a nephilim, I figured there must be some other spells too. I had been searching for hours."

"When you're supposed to be asleep."

"I was _this_ close, Dean. I was getting a certain ancient book of lore from the bookcase, which sat at the very top shelf. Too high even for me to reach. So I grabbed the shelf to boost myself, and was reaching for that book when everything just came tumbling down. That's the last I thing know before you appeared."

"Have you heard of chairs or stools? We have plenty of those around here, you know."

"Guess I wasn't thinking."

"Because you're too tired to think straight!" Dean groused. "You've been researching for three whole nights. Give yourself a rest, man."

"I can't!" Sam yelled back. Clumsily, he rolled to his feet. "We must find Jack. And after we've found Jack, we can save Mom."

"Well, you're not doing any more of that tonight. Not after what just happened."

"I'm fine, Dean."

"The hell you are." Dean watched in disbelief as Sam began to dig through the pile of books scattered on the floor. "Dude, what are you doing?"

"Saving the books," Sam said, pulling books after books into his arms. "We can't leave them lying around like this. These books are old. The spines are gonna cracked and the pages…"

All of a sudden, Sam swayed. Dean was just in time to catch him before he could fall flat onto his face.

"Um…I don't feel good." Dropping the books, Sam grabbed his head.

"Yep. I bet." Dean pulled Sam's arm over one shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Let's go, buddy. Off to bed with you."

"But the books…"

"I'll take care of your precious books later. Let me take care of you first. Agreed?"

Sam weakly nodded, his energy fully spent. "Okay."

It was a slow walk towards Sam's room. Luckily, he was conscious the entire while, or Dean would have had a hard time getting his brother there. Just because he could lift a heavy ancient bookcase, didn't meant he could carry a six-feet-four giant of a brother.

"Right, here we are." Dean gently lowered Sam onto the bed. But he wouldn't let Sam lie down just yet. "Get out of your jeans and flannel."

"Say what?" Sam gazed woozily back at him.

"You need to sleep in comfort, so get rid of those jeans. Here, put on your sweats instead."

"I'll sleep for only a few hours. I have to get back to my research as soon as possible."

"You don't have to."

"But, Dean..."

"Sammy, _no_." Dean rolled his eyes heavenward, exasperated by his brother's stubbornness. He then sighed heavily before he quietly asked, "What the hell are you doing to yourself, man? You need to rest."

Sam looked down at his feet, looking forlorn and a bit lost. "I want to save Mom. For that, I have to find Jack first."

"This whole thing does not fall on you alone, Sammy. We're in this together, aren't we? You are no good to us burned out. So you should take better care of your health. _Please_."

Sam gave his brother a thoughtful look, and reluctantly nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. I'll get some sleep."

 _Thank God_. Dean was so relieved he could just sing out loud. He handed over Sam's sweats, his younger brother's version of a pajamas. "Put this on then. I'll go get some ice for that bump on your head."

Minutes later, Dean returned to Sam's room with some ice wrapped inside a dish towel. Now wearing sweats and a t-shirt, Sam was already lying down. But he was still wide awake, though a bit groggy.

"Here," Dean said, sitting on the bed. He gently pressed the cold towel against Sam's injured temple. "Hold it there. You're sure you're alright? We can go to the hospital for a full checkup."

"No need, Dean. I've had a lot worse than this." Sam wearily chuckled. "I'll be fine."

"Okay, if you're sure. But if you start vomiting blood or spewing Farsi, I'm gonna call 911."

"But I _can_ speak Farsi. I took some classes online, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Dean shrugged. "Doesn't matter. If you start acting weird whatsoever, I _will_ rush you to the hospital. I'm not kidding."

Sam just smiled and closed his eyes. A minute later, he reopened his eyes a crack and found his big brother still sitting there. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you still here?"

"I want to make sure that you don't leave that bed."

"How am I going to sleep knowing that you sit there staring at me?"

"Close your eyes and start counting sheep."

"That's not gonna help."

" _Sam_."

"What?"

"Stop blabbing and just go to sleep, will ya?"

Grumbling, Sam rolled onto his other side to face the wall. "You're an asshole."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, I know."

A while later, Sam quietly said, "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"We're gonna save Mom, right? She's still out there somewhere?"

Dean nodded. "Yes, we are. And yes, she is."

"Okay."

Soon after, Sam's chest steadily rose and fell with his even breathing as he drifted off to sleep. Dean stayed by brother's side a while longer, keeping watch.

"I promise you this, Sammy," the elder Winchester softly said. "We will find Mom and we will save her. And you're gonna get her love and attention that you fully deserve."

 **THE END**

 **Hope y'all like that. Until next time, guys. Olá!**

 **Adromir has left the building. ^_^**


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